Still Feel You Here
by Becks Rylynn
Summary: All he said was 'You look like you could use a drink'. And the rest, as they say, is history. First in the 'Silver Ring' Series.


AN: This story, out of all of my stories, needs an AN. First of all, it's completely AU, none of this happened, and yes, the pairing is unconventional and odd, and they are extremely out of character. It doesn't go along with anything that happened after season three (namely the actress change in the Ruby character) and has no aspects of anything that's going on in season four. But, I am very proud of this story. You can flame it, tell me to stop writing, to get off the site, but this story will remain one of the most hauntingly beautiful things I've ever written, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

**Title:**_** Still Feel You Here**_

**Summary:** _All he said was ''You look like you could use a drink.'' And the rest, as they say, is history._

**Pairing:** Dean/Ruby

**Genre:** Angst/Romance

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters, nor do I pretend to own them, although I wouldn't mind owning Dean Winchester.

Still Feel You Here

She takes a long drag of her cigarette and the smoke burns her lungs, just like his lips used to burn her. Across the dark bar, a sleazy man with long greasy hair and yellowed teeth that make her stomach churn, eyes her, lust in eyes like chocolate. She scowls in response and turns away. She doesn't do _brown_ eyes.

She's not real sure why she comes in here. It's not for the company, that's for sure, and it's not to get away, because she doesn't have anything to get away from anymore. She thinks it might be to forget. She thinks that maybe part of her hopes that when she takes a drink and the alcohol stings her throat, maybe she'll get drunk enough to forget abouthim.

It never works.

No matter what she does, no matter how drunk she gets, she can never escape him.

It's been awhile, almost four months, her memories of him should be starting to fade. When she closes her eyes, the picture of him that she has in her head should be blurry and distorted. Instead, her memories get stronger everyday and when she closes her eyes, she can see him in perfect detail, and for a moment, it's like she never lost him. She can see his green eyes, and his perfect body, and his smirk, _God_, that smirk. The only thing in the world that can bring her to her knees.

A hand on her leg snaps her out of her reverie, and her entire body tenses, because _no one _is allowed to touch her anymore. She realizes that the cigarette in her hand has nearly burned down to her fingers, and she considers letting it burn her skin, just to feel something other then the mind numbing pain in her chest, and her throat. But, she's got bigger problems than unspoken words burning her throat and grief breaking her heart apart. Like the guy with his hand on her leg, begging to get bitch slapped.

''Hey, sweetheart,'' He smiles, and she resists the urge to throw up. ''I can't help but notice you're drinking alone.''

She doesn't answer, and hopes he'll go away. She doesn't need this right now. She _never _needs this. But he doesn't go, and now the bartendar, Joey - a middle aged black man who never bothers her because he knows something must be terribly wrong for such a pretty girl to be destroying herself with liquor and cigarettes - is looking at the greasy haired man apprehensively, knowing this could get ugly if her temper flares up and she decides she'd rather break the boy instead of listening to his pathetic attempts to take her home.

She wishes, maybe even prays, that something will take him away, because she just can't deal with this right now.

''Oh, come on, I'm really not that bad once you get to know me.'' And she can't help but let a half smirk cross her lips, because she really, really doubts it. But still, even as words come to rest on her tongue, she doesn't say anything, and she's sure that after two months of coming here, Joey and the regulars think she's mute.

''I'm serious.''

Wow, this guy is _persistant._

''Say, why don't I buy you a drink? You look like you could use a drink.''

She swallows down a gasp and closes her eyes, trying to breathe properly, as she shakes her head, because those words ''You look like you could use a drink'' are so familiar that they make the world shift, as if her memory is trying to replay itself in front of her eyes.

She remembers it was a Thursday, and she was sitting in some bar, bored out of her mind, because she had nothing else to do, when he sat down next to her. He was still in a good mood from the day's hunt, looking back on it, she's sure it had been a ghost, and she remembers, when he looked at her, his green eyes didn't have the cold edge they usually held whenever helooked at her. All he said was ''You look like you could use a drink.'' And the rest, as they say, is history.

Weeks went by, she broke every rule in her book by falling for someone she wasn't supposed to fall for, weeks turned into months, his time ran out, she promised to save him, and she failed horribly.

End of story.

She's suddenly brought back to the present when she realizes her eyes are wet and her throat feels like it's on fire. _No._ She blinks the unwanted tears away. She hasn't cried since _that night_, and she's not about to start now.

Joey's looking at her with a careful frown, most likely trying to decipher what's going on in her head, so she dips her head to wipe her eyes, letting blonde hair hide her face from view. And that's when she realizes something. HairBoy is _still_ talking.

''You don't say much do you?''

She glares at him through her hair and tries to choke back a growl.

''Well, that's okay. I don't much like my women talky. Besides, I think the whole no talking thing adds to the mystery, and I like my women mysterious. Enigmas, you know.''

She wonders if this guy is ever going to stop talking, and when she looks at Joey and sees him shaking his head in exasperation, she knows he's thinking the same thing.

''Hey, uh, barkeep. Two beers over here please.''

_''No.''_

_Whoa._ Was that her voice?

She startles even herself with the raspy whisper, her voice hoarse from disuse. My God, was that really the first time she's spoken since he...._went away_?

HairBoy turns and eyes her, wearily. ''What was that?''

She closes her eyes and presses her lips together so hard it hurts. _Not going to say anything, not going to say anything, not going to say anything, not going to - _

''Is she broken?'' HairBoy asks Joey.

Her eyes snap open.

Oh, screw it.

''You want to know what I said?'' Her voice shakes, simply because she can't remember how to speak without her voice cracking and breaking, and when HairBoy turns to look at her, she narrows her eyes and tries not to do any physical harm to him. ''I said no.'' She struggles to keep her eyes from turning black. ''I don't want a drink, I don't want a conversation, and I don't want to go home with you. And if I did want to go home with somebody, do you really think it would be you? I mean, look at you, when's the last time you got a haircut? Who in their right mind would go home with you? Why don't you just go back home to your mother's basement and play Dungeons and Dragons, okay?'' She stands, all the anger and pain she's been keeping inside coming out on this poor loser who just wanted to get laid. She's coming undone, hurt and angry and so fucking tired of feeling this way. ''God, what is it with you men? You're all the same. You hit on the girl, you sleep with the girl, you get the girl to go and fall for you, and then just when it's all going fine, you have to go and die playing the hero and you know what? I - ''

_'Ruby!'_

His voice invades her head, cutting her off mid sentence. She lets out a strangled gasp and has to grip the bar for support, closing her eyes to keep the room from spinning.

_'Good Lord, woman, calm down. You're making a scene.'_

She scowls.

_'He gets it, you don't like him, you don't need to make the poor kid cry.'_

Well, that's just great. This is just what she needs. Now she's going insane.

_'You're not goin' insane.'_

Oh, _God._ She sits down heavily and puts a hand on her pounding head, and the tears come before she has a chance to stop them, because it's been so long since she's heard his voice.

''Sweetheart?'' Joey leans forwards. ''Are you okay?''

_'You have to go.'_

''I have to go.'' She says automatically, rising to her unsteady feet.

_'Keep it together, baby, just get out the door.'_

She makes it outside before she splinters and cracks, collapsing against the wall, and crashing to the ground, trembling and shaking. ''Dean...'' But that's all she manages to get out before her throat closes up.

_'I'm here.'_

She cries harder, the walls she's worked so hard to build, crumbling before her eyes. ''No,'' She gasps. ''You're not.'' The ache in her chest gets so bad she can't breathe and she claws at her chest, wishing for air, and praying for the strength she needs to make it through this. ''You're not here, Dean, you're not, and you....you hurt me. I loved you, you selfish bastard, and you left me. You left me here all alone.'' She pauses, only to breathe, or at least try to, and she really does expect him to answer. When he doesn't, she starts to break all over again. ''I need you, please come back.''

In the wind, in the starry night, she swears she can hear his voice say _'I'm here'_ even though she knows he's not.

--00--

When she finally manages to pick herself up off the grimy ground, she drags herself, tears and all, back to the dump she's been living in and leans heavily against the door. All she can hear is his voice in her head saying over and over again _'I'm here'_ even if it's just a beautiful lie.

After a few minutes of trying to catch her breath, her eyes drift shut against her will, because she's just _so tired._ Exshausted really. But then she sees him, drowning in his own blood, invisible monsters tearing him open, tearing him away from her, and her eyes snap open.

Before, in what feels like another lifetime, one from long ago when everything was okay, there had only been one thing in the world that she was afraid of.

Losing him.

She's afraid of lots of things now. She's afraid to speak, she's afraid of the person she sees in the mirror, because she can't take looking at the lost little girl she's become, and she's afraid to sleep. When she sleeps, she loses him.

It's not always hell hounds. It's lots of different things, lots of diferent ways. But one thing stays the same. She always loses him.

She presses two fingers to her lips to keep a ragged sob from escaping her lips, and on unsteady feet, she stumbles forwards to the closet beside her bed. Only one thing hangs in that closet. A jacket, _his_ jacket. She remembers when Sam gave it to her before she left. He looked worse then she felt, barely managing to choke out ''He would want you to have it.'' Some part of her wonders if Sam's okay, if he's even still alive. She knows how self destructive Winchester's can get when they're grieving. _No. _She forces herself not to think about that. She'd know if Sam....if he....

She'd just know.

She bites down on her lip, so hard she draws blood, but she barely feels it, as she slowly opens the closet and pulls out the jacket, her trembling fingers wrapping it around her small frame. It's spent four months inside a dark closet that never gets opened, and she wonders, how it can still smell like ashes and cheap motel soap. She decides she'll take what she can get.

When she lays down on the bed, something crinkles in the pocket and she pulls out a worn envelope with a name written on the front in painfully familiar scrawl. It takes awhile for it to register that it's her name. And she's pretty sure she can't handle a goodbye letter, but she opens it anyways. It's not a goodbye letter, she's not sure what it is. There's only two words written on the wrinkled piece of paper.

_I'm sorry._

Tears she thought had run dry build in her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall as she rests her head on the pillow and waits for sleep to come. Or death. Whichever comes first.

The truth is, it's incredibly strange for her to be feeling this way, to be feeling anything at all, because of what she is, unholy and impure, and there shouldn't be any room for all the feelings she has. But, for some reason, Dean Winchester is the only one who can make her feel.

Sleep never comes to Ruby tonight, and she spends the majority of the night staring blankly at the wall, trying not to move, afraid if she does, she'll break again, like a fragile porcelain doll. But in the cold, dark, unforgiving light of the darkest moon outside, in the dark motel room, a voice whispers a piece of hope through the room.

_'I'm here.'_

**end**

AN: So, yeah, it's totally out of character, and AU, but I did warn you. If you can't tell, this story was written for the Katie Cassidy Ruby and not the Genevieve Cortese Ruby. If you're wondering why I didn't put this story in the A Little Game and Dance Collection, it's because I have discontinued that collection and all my Dean and Ruby stories will now be posted seperately. I will be taking the ALGD collection apart soon, and posting the stories seperately.

The sequel to this story should be up tomorrow.

Don't forget to review!

Kisses, Becks


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